Neal's Hat
by SkinnyLittleSlut
Summary: Peter realises Neal is in the pool.. can he save his partner in time? No slash, bromance and friendship. CONSIDERING DELETION.
1. Chapter 1

**I should be focusing on the other story, but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone, so enjoy! **

**Please bear in mind it was very late when I wrote this, so not my best work.**

**Disclaimer; I wish they were mine, but sadly, they aren't **

"FBI! DROP THE WEAPON!"

Diana's throaty voice rang out, causing a huge panic in the large living room. The thousands of house guests were screaming and running in all directions, vodka and wine bottles being thrown forcefully to the ground with large crashes. In the midst of the chaos, a scrawny man dressed in a vest and sporting a chunky gold necklace with a dollar sign had his Glock pointed directly down the barrel of a bald guy's similar weapon. Obviously the leaders of this feud, around five other thugs surrounded each leader. Upon hearing Diana's command, they swung round reluctantly, tossing their weapons with a clatter on the marble floor, and slowly raised their hands. FBI agents swarmed in, yelling at the scattering crowd of party guests.

At the edge of all this, Agent Peter Burke stood, his weapon raised.

"Neal? Neal!" he called, looking round for his CI, and getting increasingly worried.

They had sent Neal into the party, to scout round for the two rivals who were implicated in a huge drug plot the FBI had uncovered. Neal had managed to con his way past the menacing bouncer, and that was the last they had seen from the charming con-man. No feedback had come from his microphone, attached to his tie, so the bust had continued as normal, although they were a little confused over Neal's dead line of communication.

"Neal!" Peter yelled, getting even more concerned. He began to run across the room, searching for his CI. He looked in every part of the room, before going upstairs and checking every room, weapon in hand. In the last room, he ended up at the window. He glanced outside for a split second…and froze, a sick dread filling him. Peter whipped round and sprinted downstairs, shoving his gun into his waistband.

"Peter! What's wrong?" Jones shouted. Peter disregarded him, throwing open the patio doors, and jumping outside. He yanked off his jacket, threw his gun on the floor, and leapt in the turquoise pool, swimming furiously towards the dark shadow lying face-down in it's shimmering depths.

Peter finally reached Neal's body, and grabbing him with one arm, lapped to the edge of the pool. A crowd of FBI agents had gathered, confused, and as they realised who Peter had under his arm, collective gasps were emitted.

"Call 911!" Peter gasped, yanking him and Neal out of the pool, and lying the man down in front of him. Neal's eyes were closed, his chest completely still. The boy's expression was innocent, unguarded, and it was getting to Peter. He began to perform CPR on Neal, pushing in his chest and breathing into his mouth.

"C'mon Neal, c'mon," he muttered as he did it.

After three agonising minutes of this, Neal began coughing, spitting water everywhere. Peter almost collapsed with relief, and pulled Neal into a bone-crushing hug. Neal weakly patted his tense partner on the back, and Peter smiled, letting go of Neal and allowing him to cough the water from his lungs. The liquid had crystallised on Neal's eyelashes, giving him a child-like aura, and as water droplets sprayed everywhere, Peter reached forward and gently caught a tear-like drop as it ran down his C.I's face. Neal's eyes met Peter's, his gaze intense.

_His eyes are so blue_ thought Peter, frowning at the surge of love he felt for Neal.

The EMT's arrived, and strapped Neal to the gurney.

Before they loaded him into the ambulance, Neal grabbed onto Peter's tie, and pulled him close.

"Neal?" he asked, worried.

Neal took a deep breath, staring at Peter for a few more minutes, before leaning up a little, and whispering;

"M..my hat.."

Peter laughed, slapping Neal on the shoulder, and climbed into the vehicle next to him.

**If I get more than 5 people reviewing to tell me to write more, I shall :3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I finally got round to it. This was never meant to be a long story, so this'll be the last chapter. I'm sorry it sucks.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Neal or Peter, sadly. **

Neal opened his eyes sleepily. He began to stretch, and winced at the pain it caused him. As he lay still, waiting for the spark of agony to fade, from the corner of his eye he caught sight of Peter, who was sprawled out on the chair next to him, snoring.

Neal smiled slowly, but it quickly faded - his chest hurt, his throat hurt, and his head especially hurt. He coughed lightly, and moaned in pain, as his chest and stomach both clenched.

"Neal?"

Peter was by his side in a split second. Neal was on the verge of panic now his head was clearing from the sleep. He could barely process anything, his limbs were heavy, and he _ached._ His lungs wouldn't fill properly. _His lungs wouldn't fill. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. _

Neal started to panic, gasping for the breath his distress was stealing. His heart rate began to climb, and he was struggling to move. Peter caught hold of Neal's hand, and rested it on his partner's chest.

"Neal buddy, relax. It's alright. You're alright. Just breathe. Deep breaths. Little breath, come on now, that's it. Fill your chest. Breathe Neal. Breathe"

Neal obeyed Peter gradually, and his gasps turned to rough breaths again.

"There we go. Theeere we go"

Neal began to relax, his heart rate dropping. The stitch in his chest didn't fade, but Neal found he could breathe around it. He could breathe again.

Peter pulled his hand away from Neal's and patted him awkwardly on the back, before taking his seat again.

"Thank you, Peter," Neal said quietly.

"Anytime, buddy. So, you wanna tell me what happened?"

"Wow, Peter," Neal laughed. "Not even a minute to recover, and hello, here's the interrogation."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Neal, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then I guess you're good to answer my questions. What happened?

"Fine. So, I went in, and those two dealers were in a argument - a really big one, screaming at each other, and then out come the guns. I try to intervene, but one of the guests happens to be the son of a victim of one of the cons I /allegedly/ pulled. He threw me in."

Peter's eyes widened in shock.

"We sent you in there, without backup. You could have died. Neal, I'm sorry. I should have known better."

Swearing under his breath, Neal painfully propped himself up on his elbows. "Peter, it's fine. The guy just tossed me in the pool to scare me, I guess, and I hit my head on the side. He must have gotten scared about a longer prison sentence, so he ran."

Peter reluctantly met Neal's earnest blue eyes.

"Even so, I'm sorry."

Neal nodded, wincing, and lay down again. His head was throbbing like crazy.

"Y'alright?"

"Fantastic," he said through gritted teeth. Peter shuffled his chair nearer to Neal's bed, muttering a quick "sorry" when the scraping sounds make Neal jump. Peter watched as Neal took painful deep breaths, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds.

"It's alright, buddy," Peter repeated, and before he realised what he was doing, he was stroking Neal's hair back in an unconscious attempt to comfort him. If Neal hadn't been half-blacked out with pain, he might have objected, but at the moment, the action seemed to soothe him. Neal drifted off to sleep with the only person he could bring himself to trust right by his side, and he'd never felt more happy."


End file.
